Thank You and Good Bye

This was the last front page of 'News of the World' which closed after 168 years of operation.

I have not written for more than 6 months in this blog and to think of number of blogs I had created, written and deleted, it would make almost two years in total. I think I did it because I wanted to let out the steam.

To be honest, I did with a wish that 'you' would read it sometimes. Which meant I would still be a part of ' your' life in some ways. I guess I was not ready to let you go yet.  I couldn't comprehend my life without you. I had to have your existence somewhere even if not with me and in my life.

You know it is weird, I did a mistake. I didn't know what I had until it was too late. I realise that it was futile to try to get it back.. it was like trying to bring back the dead. And I only caused more sorrow and pain to you and I almost destroyed myself in the process..

I seeked solace in arms of strangers when all I wanted was to get one look into your eyes. The grieving process took too long.

But now I understand. I can love you always. I do not need you in my life for that. At the end, we are all the same, we are all made of this premodial soup. We were all one once, and we will all become one at the end.

I cannot forget you, but I hope you have come to live with my memories in peace too. That the damage my small decision caused in our lives have healed a bit. That you are happy wherever you are. I want you to let me go.. Like I am letting you go.

I will cherish what we had. I will never forget the first day I saw you. And I think I will always love that person that I met that day, though it was after quite some time that I realised it was love.

I am letting you go.. and I am not coming back here..

I love you. Please set me free..

sound of silence

I have no wise cracks to make, no sponteneous poems to bake, no revelations to fake, to inner search and self exploration take.. today.

a fake life

It was like a dream within a dream.
Hers was an existence,
just a memory on an ancient one,
reflection within reflection within reflection.

Everything borrowed, everthing snitched.
Everthing forgotten, skeleton of rememberance,
Somewhere withing the skeletons,
Lied a worm, gnawing day and night.

A phantom soul, everychanging.
From books, to books, to books of life,
Two dimensional everything,
Except perhaps, the worm.

One day, she decided to cure herelf of it.
She arranged the bones, anatomically perfect,
Plucked out the worm and set it on fire,
For an instance, she felt the hell inside her.

Nebulas, Update on the book and restlessness that doesn't seem to end

I am listening to blues and staring at the screen. Writing doesn’t come easy to me. I have to fight for the words. The thoughts that form inside me, if they were objects with real weight, volume and force, my insides would be a huge wreck. I know this. They roll and rumble, sometimes, growl and thunder, sometimes explode! And to form words for those thoughts and jot them down, type them here is like waging a war against myself. It’s bloody. However, I love doing it.

When I write and click that post button, I know I am opening yet another small window through which the whole world can see the inside of me. I will be vulnerable and open to judgments. I would like to do it anyway. Perhaps, I have a streak of an exhibitionist!  I like to share thoughts, because these are not just mine. We are all interconnected, I do not write for myself only.

I have not been doing much lately, just printing images of universe, nebulas, blue daisies, horses and warrior princesses and sticking them all over the walls of my room. While I lay back in my bed, I like immersing myself in them.  “The Book” is stalled for the moment because there is another story brewing that has been grabbing my face and forcing me to look at it. I know I should at least do the second draft of ‘The Book’ as it is pretty much shaped and structured. I need to end it. But the end is just not becoming..

I still get dragged to some distant hill and I still feel the restlessness of Mr. V that follows him in his journey..  He is still searching.. and I feel that angst. And unless this feeling is over, I know the story is not over at all..

bed rest, ghost of pasts and a renewed passion

Sorry my Phantom Readers, for not being able to write so often. I have been rather unwell. My body has been feeling like a furnace coated with ice that never melts. And the thirst is so bad that I could gulp down the Ganges and still be thristy. But I am getting better, I am healing and realizing new layers inside me, within people around me and in this universe as well.

Two days ago, I woke up from my red sleep, burnt with amber of my feverish cells and I noticed that the first thought in my consciousness was, “ How will people remember me when I die?” Then I remembered for a few seconds feeling this immense fear. Once I remember not long ago, having said, “ I want to vanish into oblivion, I don’t want anyone to remember me.” But as soon as I had said it, I knew I was telling the biggest lie to myself.

What is the meaning of existing if the whole aim of my existence was to vanish into the darkness. I know scientifically thinking, at some point in time, somewhere in the future, things are going to change, humanity will change, there is a possibility that our solar system will be nothing but mere dark hole. Everything we have now, we aspire to be, millions of dreams and millions of existence would be just a vortex from where nothing would escape. No one will escape. So why this struggle, why this fear of the nothing?

Why do I want to; save money and travel the world, look into eyes of my lover (who I am sure is out there) and learn of freedom, look into eyes of children and learn of what love is, birth babies, bake cakes, conquer my fear of sky diving, ride the Royal Enfield from Kathmandu till Tibet and then some more… perhaps around the world.

Then I tell myself, look at yourself.. then again I tell myself, look out there.. so much to see, so much to learn.. This is a thirsty soul in search of knowledge, but I believe knowledge is like soft drink. Never quenches the real thirst.. you need water, pure H20 for that. And the water of life is ‘ being’.

Knowledge of freedom without living it  is nothing but a fallacy, knowledge of love, hate, ecstasy, rebellion, life, birth and death are the same. Shadows, which can somehow give you glimpses of the shapes but of not what the shapes, are of.

These thoughts have been loitering in the backstreets of my mind in silence; these strange thoughts which are so common and loiter inside each one of us but never knock on the door to make their presence felt. Sometimes, it takes few days in bed one moment clattering your jaws and next heating up like furnace, the thoughts of dying alone in a foreign land and not ever seeing your friends and family back home, never haveing that house in the hill, never falling in love again and never writing another set of words. It scares the shit out of the ever forgetting conscious mind and something from your subconscious jumps up and grabs your attention.

Then you write a letter to the man you loved most and tell him that you will always wish that all his dreams will fall on his lap like soft starlights and that he be happy where ever he is. ' Forgive and forget'. You let the ghosts of grudges cross the heavenly streams of forgiveness and never come back. You make a promise to be kinder, more generous to yoruself and letting your heart out of the shackles whatever the end result might be. Then you make an hour long journey across town in an overcrowded train, wondering at the beauty of life and universe that surrounds you and enroll yourself in that course you have wanted to enroll yourself ten years back!

Sometimes you need that prespective from the underside..

Much Love

- The Warrior Princess

The Pink Book Sale

We have a book sale here which is held every second Friday of the month in a shopping mall.  It is called ‘The Pink Book Sale’ and I try to attend it as much as I can, as early as possible. This is one place where I can spend money without a speck of guilt because the proceedings go to Breast cancer awareness and treatment for those who cannot afford.

I think book sales are amazing. It is like a treasure hunt. If you got sharp eyes and mind with quick hands and reflexes, you get away at the end with so many wonderful books that you consider the body ache and tired feet blissful. Not to mention the price, that is slashed to one tenth of the original prices, which makes the effort worthwhile. I got Hemingway, Coetzee, Gibran, Murakami McCourt and others in just under 90 bucks! Getting the Murakami was a bit of a tussle between the newly red haired me and the giant Irish redhead woman. It was like they show on tv shows. One book and two women fighting over it, a good humored fight though. They had a book of DH Lawrence but I am waiting for the price to go even more down (I know that no one will buy it for sure with the condition of the cover). Next sale will be the right time to snatch it.

Among those hundreds of book there was this one thin, sleek looking book in glamorous black shiny cover, standing out, calling my name. I thought it was some book on design and picked it up. When I saw the title, I had a big laugh. It was ‘Art of Seduction’ by some guy writer whose snapshot looked like that of someone caught in middle of swooning, frozen forever in that expression of 'come hither' look and an almost pout! Almost with a look of a desperation.

'Jesus, man with a pout!’was my first thought. But I bought it for the fun it and it was so cheap! Been through half of it already and it’s so informative! I never really imagined people had ways of thinking as mentioned in the book but when I come to think of my interaction with the opposite sex, everything matches! Well almost everything... Their blowing hot and cold, their acting mysterious, their giving out mixed signals... I was howling with aching belly and lungs with realization of all this little games! Now I have a tool to understand the male psychology! I am empowered! Hence, it proves again, ' Never judge a book by it's cover' or the snapshot of the writer on the cover..

There is also another reason for which I love book sales, leaving the prices and the rush of ‘treasure hunt’. Each book has two stories to tell: one that is written by the author and the other of the reader/ readers. The dog eared book that has been handed down and around families and friends, the books in almost perfect condition which was given as gift and you wonder why would you ever let it go. Personally I am someone who can keep even the wrappers of chocolates and presents. I am sentimental, emotional, very much.

I found a handmade greeting in one of the books. It is lovely, a family history.  The small piece of paper holds so much of a story in it. Though I myself do not write on my books, I love discovering messages, quotes and even the words underlined amongst the pages. It is always heart touching to come across small bits of personal history of unknown people accidently.

Don’t you think so?

- The Warrior Princess

Henry Miller Reads

loose diamonds, shifting flats and mother's day

Hello There!

I had been gone for a week. Did you miss me?

Well, there are no excuses except for the fact that sometimes working, studying, blogging, socializing gets too much for one to juggle. It really drains you out. Especially when you happen to be shifting nest on top of all the other activities of the week. But the dust has settled down, swept away rather, wardrobes cleaned, books categorized and shelved, and the birthday teddy bear washed, dried, fluff-ied and placed at his rightful place i.e. next to my pillow ( yes I still have my girlyness alive).

Now that everything is where it should be, I am back! This is the third time I have shifted in this year. I like the process. It’s like a mini adventure, always jogs your memory. You find small trinkets of past and could be future tucked between one of the books, some random sketches and designs which I mean to turn into real work, loose diamonds from a ring given by certain someone! (I am still to decide if I should dump them in the ocean..)

My roomates always get amazed to see that I have more books than clothes. And even more so to see that I have loose diamonds in old torn wallet where I keep other knick knacks and old black and white pictures. One of them is of my mom in a vintage knee length dress. She has her hair in ponytail and a front bang right till her eyebrows. She is wearing a small strappy kitten heel and standing in the back with other girls in the group. She is a nurse and this picture was taken during her last college year. She is voluptous in build and is leaning forward on a chair so you can see that she has a bulging stomach. That is apparently me in her womb! Her face has hint of shyness but does she look beautiful! Well perhaps, she is my mother so my judgement can be very biased.

I think it was during my early years when I started exploring English literature, I learnt of the phrase and it felt as if some age old unknown curse had fallen upon me. It went something like this. ‘All women become like their mother. That is their tragedy.’

At that age, I in no manner wanted to be like my mother. In fact, I hated her. I would wonder why couldn't she be the normal mother that my friends had. Why she wouldn't stay home, make us warm food, clean for us, always be there on my father's call. Why would she have to rush to stranger's house calls at random hours, why she was not there to celebrate our birthdays, our annual school functions when we were the ones who won almost half of the prizes (?)

Now that I am older, I understand her more. To think that at my age, she had given birth to two kids, was working full time, mothered us the best she knew, supported my father through his college amazes me. She was that strong and more, she was that giving, loving and more. I have seen her like that. And I have seen her in other lights too.

I had seen her love, her rage; at age of twelve when I was in a very confusing place called adolescence, sitting next to the sad and heaving figure of my mother, I have looked into her eyes, heard her words that echoed so much loneliness and sadness of being misunderstood that I think it scarred me till last half a dozen years.

I was a silent witness when society systematically with its age old hypocritical laws and labels killed one smile after another in her face; it dulled the fire in her eyes that was always ready to flare against unjust social taboos. Every time she was late from work, after saving yet another life of a newborn baby, or a mother, or a patient; she would be a loose woman! Every time she talked to another man, to prescribe his dose of medicine, to teach him how to care for his baby or his sick wife, she would be a whore!

I have also seen her love a man so much that she wiped her identity for him, she became him. I have seen her heart breaking and going down the dark and murky hole of depression. Seeing my mother as a person was very confusing and frustrating.

It is difficult to think that the woman who is the source of our life could be that vulnerable. It shakes your own confidence, make you vulnerable as well.  I was always the defiant one in the family, defiant and naïve to the limit of appearing stupid at times and all that confused me. I couldn’t understand that there were so many other lone warriors like her, who gave up sooner or later, tried from defending her honour again and again and again. And at the end, end up being what the society always labeled and wanted them to be. An outcast, a mere fallen mortal, who had gone beyond what the society deemed was right in the books.

But I have also seen her fight back.  I have seen her going down the dark and murky hole of depression and emerging out of it a victorious heart. I have seen and now understand her actions which were her answers to the so called puritan society and I feel proud that I am her daughter.

At the time when women were supposed to sit at home, clean kitchens and serve their husbands, my mother was out in the world, fighting in it for her own place under the sun, marching to her own drum beat. She rode an old bicycle every day for hours back and forth the remote health post, where she saved lives. She was a fighter; she was a savior. She was even the fashion trend setter :) ( the first one of wear kurtas instead of saris, first one to sassy in jeans and tops, first one to get that nasty noodle hair as my dad said, first one to wear red lipstick GASP!) She was a lover (GASP AGAIN!) rather than a submissive wife; she was the provider and not the helpless, at home she was adored and respected while most women were treated as if they were  some kind of household item, to be made well use of.

Despite all the name calling and blames she got (being a nurse was a big no no for a woman from respectable family then and running away from home to pursue education was even bigger social offence, my mother was guilty of both) she is still at her work. In fact, she has been promoted several times now and she has changed a whole village where she lives now with her fiery attitude. Because of her, most of the people have now enrolled their daughters in nursing school, while I was the one who in fear of becoming like my mother decided to take a compeletely different course of life.  

I cannot speak for men, they might have their own personal wars to win and heartbreaks to heal, as I can recall from my father's life (entirely different story and today is Mother's day). What I have learnt is that different course from your mother or not, there will always be heartbreaks, struggle for identity, you will always have to fight for your rights and what you deserve anywhere you go.

She will always be my inspiration. My friends tell me how envious they are that I have a mother who is more a friend and intellectual sound board rather than an old heckling hen. And what more, she still lives her life passionately. If that saying is true, than I look forward to becoming more like who she is.

- The Warrior Princess

let them flow

The wine bottle was popped open and crysal glasses were filled. Had a good company of friends and the words started flowing. Books were dissected, writers examined, philosophies and world history cross checked. We conversed about kings and queens, Jesus meeting Buddha somewhere in the northern part of Indian subcontinent, matters of hearts and life, Def Leppards and personal philosophies, beliefs. The music flowed with conversations, we shared food for body as well as mind. Oh! It made me realise how much I had missed such intellectual stimulating conversations!

Someone come and talk to me about poems and poets, about art and artists, philosophers and their philosophies, universe out there and universe inside.. here... I know you are out there, I know there are more people, weird, defiant, daydreamers, nerdy souls, word lovers.. Come and talk to me, even if a while and even if in lengths of time.. I am hungry for knowledge, I am thirsty for answers and may be together we can cross the realm of what is and what is not and perhaps someday find a place where everything 'be'...

I admit I have to learn a lot, and I might be able to contribute little on the talking part, but I can listen. I am a good listener, I can open up my heart and let you pour your thoughts into it. I thirst for such companions, my strange and weird friends who have all now grown up and become 'levelheaded and matured' I miss your crappy talks where we tried to make heads and tails of this world and ourselves. Then there were no walls between people, then we had this naivety which made us have faith even on a new found friend, we never questioned each others profession, age and motives. Then, when we could look into the eyes of each other and pass on a little bit of our souls, like breads around a dining table. We could feast on the pile of our souls, without having to fear that it might not be enough, that we would not have our fill..

Out here, it gets pretty darn tough to meet people without any walls. Everyone has a wall built around them, even I do, I learnt it with time. A lot of mistrust, judgemental thinking and generalisation runs here.  I think human souls need osmosis in regular basis to survive.. exchange of stories, feelings, thoughts.. learning from each other... But with these walls around, nothing gets exchanged. And soon you become a soul zombie, your view of the world gets narrower, you start to put people under catagories, friends become mere networking equipments... and I might go crazy.

I was talking to someone this last week and he admited that he felt the same when I said that people have glass walls around them here.. you see each other but the walls seal out any real form of communication. There are so many isolated single stories here. I have had my single stories about people as well, but I have learnt to shed them gracefully. He was one of them too. I had a thought that people from the other spectrum of living were different than us who lived under the shadows. But talking to him made me realise again what is a simple truth that we keep forgetting, no matter where we live, we share the same sky! We have our differences but we share similarities too. We love, we have our fears, we have our insecurities, we have our hopes... Among so many stereotyping about who is who, questions about morality of certain group of people, questions about their lifestyle.. I have learnt that it is essential to keep open mind when it comes to people, in order to avoid  the danger of falling into the traps of a narrow mind.

Here I remember Chimamanda Adiche, an African writer-ess, and her talk about how we form single stories about people and community. I can relate so much to what she says here. I have been having the mental shift she talks about as well.

These days have been strange, I watched an animaed movie Rango and what a feast it was to my senses. The weird imagery, walking cactus plants under the amorphous moonlight stirred something inside me. I know how they feel, forever walking towards water but finding none. But there was something else that stuck up a chord.

"A man can never escape his own story." says the imaginary friend the green lizard has. I have been feeling it too. " You are like a gypsy witch soul trapped inside those expensive business suits, you should shed some of those walls and open up to the universe in order to be more receptive of your true self." A friend had said. I have always known that, though it was temporarily forgotten. The seeds were always there, just that a thick layer of hot tar had been laid and the road was just a lifeless, cold, coarse asphalt, slithering like a black snake. Time has worked it's magic though. The seeds, the minutest form of life have decided to fight back and broken through the lifeless layer of black. It has cracked and new leaves have sprouted. Soon the whole path will be covered with green leaves and flowers of every hue and design that you can possibly imagine.

Now a days, I feel that I can expand and cover the universe in blink of an eye at times. I feel strong force pulling and pushing me towards a new direction. I find myself getting attracted to new things, experiences, I find it easier to embrace changes and accept what I have no power to change. It is like series of awakenings are happening every moment. I am getting in tune with the forces of life and nature. The way is a bit hazy but I have found that with faith even the unknown seems to shower you back with what your hearts truest desires are. Every day, I realise some part of me that was laying redundant like a forgotten memory. Things are stirring up slowly inside me, like a witch's broth.

 

I know, these business suits will have to go someday. This gypsy witch will pick up her broom, beat the dust off and fly across the purple sky.

point B - Sarah Kay

Someday, I am going to read this to my daughter too.. hopefully. Happy reading my Phantom Readers..

Point B- Sarah Kay

Instead of mom she’s gonna call me point B
Because that way she knows that no matter what happens,
at least she can always find her way to me.
And I’m gonna paint the solar system on the back of her hand
so that she has to know the entire universe before she can say
oh, I know that like the back of my hand.
She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you
Hard.
In the face.
Wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach.
But the wind knocked out of you is the only way
to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by bandaids or poetry
So the first time she realizes that wonderwoman isn’t coming,
I’ll make sure she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself
Cause no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,
your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal.
Believe me , I’ve tried.
And baby, I’ll tell her.
Don’t keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick.
You’re just smelling for smoke,
so you can follow that trail back to a burning house,
so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire
to see if you can save him
Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place
to see if you can change him
But I know that she will anyways so instead
I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rainboots nearby
because there’s no heartbreak chocolate can’t fix.
Okay there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix.
But that’s what the rainboots are for,
because rain will wash away everything if you let it. ‘
I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottomed boat.
To look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist
on the pinpoint of a human mind because that’s the way my mom taught me,
that there’ll be days like this
there’ll be days like this my momma said
When you open your hands to catch
and only wind up with blisters and bruises.
When you step out of the phonebooth and try to fly
and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape.
When your boots will fill with rain
and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment 
and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.
Cause there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to
stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.
You will put the wind in win some lose some
you will put the star in starting over and over
 no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute
be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale of one to trusting I am pretty f****ing nave.
 But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar.
And sure, it can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to
stick your tongue out and taste it.
And baby, I’ll tell her.
 Remember your mama is a worrier,
but your papa is a warrior and
 you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.
Remember that good things come in threes,
and so do bad things,
 and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong,
 but don’t ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining
and your voice is small,
but don’t ever stop singing,
and when they finally hand you heartbreak,
 slip hatred and war under your doorstep
and hand you hand outs on streetcorners of cynicism and defeat
you tell them they really ought to meet your mother.

Much Love/
- The Warrior Poetess

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance under the rain."

I was born in the rainy season. Probably that is why I have a profound affinity with rain and water bodies. And this makes me sometimes hate the place I live in because it is a desert city. It seldom rains here and when it does, it pours. Roads turn into rivers in blink of an eye. However, on a day like today, I simply fall in love with this place all over again.

Right now, this city is like a thirsty pilgrim who has drank from a crystal clear pond in an oasis. She rests in bliss, under the shadows of bellowing clouds. And I, her denizen, slow down a bit, listen to Bach and enjoy a warm cuppa while my memory jogs down the lane to a black asphalt road that snakes through a village where the leaves in the forest lose the layer of dust and turn emerald green after the rains. I see bunch of kids dancing in the rain; their innocent soul picking up the vibration of music that flows through the air like magic. The grownups can’t hear it; their feet will not tap with the melody of pitter-pattering rain drops that’s hitting the tin roofs and muddy earth. They take cover and watch with wary eyes at those bare feet children. Worries of hookworm, cold, running nose, bad grades and dirty floors crowd their adult minds.

I would like to think rain falls for those children, lovers and the peacocks. Scientific reasons be damned. This is the perfect time. To cuddle under warm blanket and let heart take the reins or to throw back your worries and to follow the tune of your heart and the universe and do the soul dance. I think I will do just that! I know that tune; I was born with it in my veins. From water to water, I was born and I will dance under it, alone or not..

See you later my phantom readers! It’s your call to stay dry or get wet though.. J

 - The Warrior Princess

update on 'The Book'- 4

Finally the exams are over... WOOO HOOO!!! I got my peace of mind back for another couple of weeks after which, again I will have to put on the hat of a juggler..

Anyways, lets leave this 'talk about me' here.. I am here to talk about 'The Book'.

I had not been able to visit the airport terminal due to my exams and overloaded work schedule ( we are understaffed you see). So, my dear phantom readers, I have decided to go to the airport this week. I promise, within this week... so that Mr. V get to move ahead from the airport waiting lounge he has been sitting in for past two weeks.

He is almost about to smash those ceiling high glass windows and dash towards the runway! Well that is what you might as well get tempted to do if you were stuck inside one space with throngs of people and not get out.. you see the moment remains hanging in eternity. It doesn't move. The lights do not go out, the people remain where they are, like a flash mob that lasts forever. It's almost like one of those nightmares from the movie ' Hell Raiser'.. You are stuck inside one scene for eternity..

Sorry, I am drifting here... Is it obvious that I am very very distracted today? I think it is the giddyness of freedom I am anticipating after weeks of submerged living between the lines.. I mean figuratively ( My bed is piled up with books, pens, papers, chewed pencils and empty packets of lays chips which I am going to have to clear out tonight as soon as I reach home from work..). Ah! I have lists of things planned up for a whole month or so to explore after that caveliving ... :)

Well, back to ' The Book' again.. Yes Mr. V is stuck at the airport terminal. But there are other plots forming in my mind parallel to that. I am visiting hills and forests in my sleep. Sometimes, I can almost smell the leaves and moss even in middle of this dried desert city. Ms. Y is taking me there. I am travelling with her through the dense forests and running up and down the silhouette of hills and mountains. I am seeking the meaning of her existence along with her. Sometimes, I can almost hear her voice murmuring songs, and sometimes I hear her roar with the anger that runs in her blood. I know she is angry and finally putting the pieces of puzzle of her life together.

Let's see how the bigger picture looks like...  in time.

:)

With Love
- The Warrior Poetess

flowing south

I was named after one of the two rivers in my country that flows the other way. While rest of the rivers flow from south to north, these two rivers due to some strange geographical arrangements flow from south to north. Later in school days, one of my teachers didn't buy this truth ( he had lived overseas his entire life before) so he changed my spelling. Yes, where I grew up, schools ran for 8 hours and teachers had veto when it came to changing names of their pupils if they felt it was the right thing to do.

So, I was no longer the river that flowed from south to north, but something that connoted a flower! "Great!" I thought, at fourteen I felt it was better to be a flower than a strange river. And I was already a 'strange enough  kid' so change of name was more than welcomed. My father had a fit though when I took the report cards home and he saw that the name he so lovingly gave me was mutilated. But it was too late to do anything, my name was already officially registered in the education system.

Later there would be a phase where a set of people still called me by my old name and another set of people who would call me by the new, flowery name. Still further down the line, there will be another mishap where the people at passport division would rename me again! So, since my birth I got three different names and a paper with many colourful stamps from all concerned government departments confirming that all three person of such, such and such names are the same.

When I think about it, I know the name that my father kept is the most suitable one for me. I can relate to it now, though I hated it when I had to explain what it meant to people all the time. I still do not understand why people ask what the meanings of a person's name is? It is not that you can predict anything with it! People are born to the names somebody has already thought/decided for them, except for cases where one chooses a name change later in life.

The other day, while I was waiting for the train, I caught a reflection of mysef on the glass separator. my reflection became prominent in my mind. It seemed to ask me, what if I was named something else, some other flower, or river, or thing! Would that have made any different impact on my life? What does this name hold for me? Then I felt this strong urge to burst out of my skin and transpire... not even evaporate.. but just jump the mid stage of change and become a part of ether. I wish to be more than a mere name and I have nothing but this name to hold on to as an identity.

I was going through some images and came across one of dark skinned fishermen, who seemed to be flying over the sea waves. And that instant, I wanted to be the fisherman who sat ever so patiently on one bamboo stalk bracing the incoming wave as he waited for a fish to take a bait. I wanted to be that bamboo stalk that held the fisherman ever so patiently against the force of gravity and motion. I wanted to be that wave, that fish, those sand particles... I wanted to be everything and nothing!

I have never believed in rat race that plagues the modern soul. The need to prove that you are better than the rest. What for? Why? Each soul is individual and unique piece of a gigantic mosiac of life that is infinitly small in comparison to the giant of the universe that houses it. And if there ever is a need for race, let it be with one's own. Self actualisation comes on the top tier of modern economist's theories, whereas it should come right after the basic needs. If this change were to happen even in the tiniest fraction of humanity, the world would see drastic changes.

However, we, human are in my opinion becoming more out of tune with our own universe. The advancement of science has made us proud to the borderline of being arrogant. we think we can harness the wind so we can harness power of nature, we can laser gun meteores out of existence before it even hits the outer of our stratrosphere, we can create clones, we can revive stopped hearts. We have become almost blinded with all our human achievements that we have stopped listening to natures signs. We no longer stop to hear the music of wind, when was the last time you stopped what you were doing and gazed at the sky to marvel at the universe, count stars, name shapes in the clouds? When have you smiled at a stranger without expecting a smile back?

We talk through our life like we are travelling in the subway these days. We do not even make eye contact let alone talk to strangers. We do not wish to sing out of tune and make absurd music with whatever we have in our hands when we want to make music.  We live in fear. We facebook each other rather than write hand written letters ( which reminds me that I have decided to start writting letters to a friend, we are going to go back to the blotchy papers and ink pens, licking stamps and anticipating answers, excercising our imagination on endless possibilities the folded paper would hold inside it).

I am not a technology hater, I just wish we were more connected in other ways than the energy comsuming, eye sight destroying plasma screens and electronic medium which transforms human emotions into mere bytes. That we could break new grounds in stem cell research and yet not forget to understand the importance of simplicity of nature. Let science explore new frontiers, and still let our human soul have faith in something more than number crunchers and formulas alone. Let us not lose touch with our more intutive side, the one that nurturs, wonders and marvels.

When I sometimes talk like this, I get odd looks. But what can you expect?  I have my eccentricities, I have my passions. I am someone who can live a pauper life, but not a life that lacks inspiration. I am the river that flows south... I am like this.

friends are forever.. or not

Friends are forever, they used to tell us when we were growing up. But the harsh truth of life is that sometimes, friends outgrow you or you outgrow them. It could be because of various reasons, change of location, change of status ( getting married, divored or widowed affects people), change of heart .. in nutshell, changes and situations that leads to the changes..  

We meet so many individuals in life; among them, we instantly gel with some. You feel that you are in the same wavelength, the vibes are right, the aura is good! And then there are some, who always manage to push the wrong buttons and you wish that in no way ever to cross path with them. However, you always do, and once you let go of your judgements towards that certain person, you open up to possibilities and see what lies beyond, you form strong friendship.

I was trying to understand a strange situation I found myself in. I was looking for answers, and of course what do we do..? Right...search for answers within ourself, be plagued with questions on your motives, our thoughts, ' Am I the one who is toxic?" " Am I the one who is hoarding my inner frustration and anger on ther friend or is it opposite way around?" " Do I contribute to bring any sort of negativity into my friend's life?" and yes the final 'google search' which led me to many links. From papers written by researchers and psychologists to soppy poems and images. I also found out that at certain stage friendship can become toxic, the reason could be either you or your 'friend'. And that there are three main reasons that you choose to be friends with someone; utility, entertainment and virtue.

When you decide that certain someone has useful tools, resources that you can make use of and become friends with them, thats utility. You are using that person who is your friend. When you do it in order to pass your time, get out of your boring routine, etc you make a friend just to entertain you; to inject some 'fun' in your life. Friendship built on basis of the above two will never last long, because there is only a certain limit to which your needs/ expectations can get fulfilled from someone else.

Now, when you know someone and decide to be friends with them because there is a certain character or habit of the person that you like, that is friendship based on virtue. You are focusing here on the 'person' and not what the person has or could do for you. That is where strong bond forms.

In past, I never felt that power plays is a part of friendship. But now-a-days, I can clearly see it, we cannot be friends when we are not equal with the other person. Personal difference do not count as much as equality as in the terms of control, mutual respect and personal identity. You can be friends with someone who has different thinking, taste in clothes, food and way of life. But I think it is difficult to be friends with someone who always tries to overpower, control and constantly judges your actions.

Albert Camus, has put it rightly. "Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Walk beside me and be my friend." 

I do not mean nor expect that things are always to be sweet and easy. It is not possible. Human nature is very complex, something will always rise up. As an individual, you are constantly growing. This growth demands that you challenge your own thoughts, your way of living and your surrounding. And at times, you will find yourself at a road that forks and you have to part ways with some people you have loved and cherished, the journey ahead seems daunting.

No matter what the reason is, it is alway like a heartbreak when you realise that time has changed that old friend to someone you hardly recongise. I think it is similar to the moment when you realise that your baby brother has grown up into a self assured, slow talker, man! Or when your once baby cousins ask you for ' Privacy please!" But I believe this is the nature of life. It is a continouous journey and bittersweet learning process.So, for now, I will put my chin up and walk the walk.

But the child in me, who believes in signs and 'Friendship is Forever' will always wish that road will once again merge and I will meet them again in the state where our hearts were as one and we lived like we ruled life and time, not the other way around..

dog days are over

Overworked. Numb. Disappointed. Dazed. Hence, need for an upbeat song that beats the blues away!

Hope you are having a smashing week!



photography workshop 101

I attended a workshop on ' photography- indepth study of exposure and composition' last friday. It was a full day course sponsored by 'canon middle east'. This are few images that I thought were among best. Mind that this was first ever trial for me and I was more nervous than the models.. who were as cool as ice.

Looking forward for another workshop session soon. Till then I gotta practice practice and practice.. :)

Exams on from next sunday!! Almost done with ' Introduction to Cinema' and ' Photojournalism'.. but still four more books to go!

See you soon with the development on the story..

Much Love,
- The Warrior Poetess

Update No.3

This update is about the protagonist of 'the book'. Let us call her Ms. M for now. I have been building her up in my brain. What she likes, how she laughs, her small quirks and mannerisms. She grows a lot over the span of time in the story. One could say, she lives two life times. One as an average next door girl, another as a member of underground militia. 

Now, I don't want to give away too much here, you guys will have to bear with me while I pen down the whole story, which is going on albeit in slower phase. I might be a gone for a bit longer from here, though I will try to post the Sunday ‘photo journal’ and at least one poem a week. This week has been dry though. I got exams coming up in 2 weeks so been pretty heavily dosed with the text book contents to let my imagination run wild 'up there'.

On top of that, I got a full day photography workshop this Friday sponsored by Canon. I am hoping to learn a lot more about photography in near future, for which I have immense interest. Perhaps, you will see the results as better photographs in this blog after the workshop.

If I don’t drop by again for this week, ‘Have a good weekend people!”

Much Love.

-The Warrior Princess

wood carvings

Was talking a walk around the creek during the weekend. Saw this beautifully lit window down the old ' Bastakia' area. That place is considered as the heart of old ' D' Town, the cultural hub, I plan to explore it more and post more images in future for your eyes only, my dear 'Phantom' readers.. ;)

I Wade Through

( This poem is for the street kids. They have this specific spot in the entrance of a tourist hub, back home. They live with a wall, actually, they live with only the wall on their back. They sleep on the dirty pavements, empty dendrite tubes and dogs lay scattered about, with nothing but rags and newspapers on them. And behind the wall, there is some high class bureaucratic office. Very apt situation there. I do not want to say that they are the sole responsibilities of the government, and from what I have read and heard from friends who work in development sector, NGOs, street kids are the most difficult to deal with. Sometimes even more than the children affected by wars. I think it is because, these kids have already given up hope of life... they sort of live like zombies, but I would also like to believe that there is hope for them. I want to work with them in future, first I have to finish my own education, earn a little, be financially independent before I venture out. But once I do, they will definitly be where I will start my work. May be run a workshop where I can bring them in and teach them poetry and art... I do believe that poetry and art can heal human souls... may be not entirely, but it could... I believe words have magic. Lets see what the future holds.)

In this country of faceless gods and goddesses,
where the history has crumbled away,
like the layer of cheap white wash they put
on decaying walls of ancient palaces every dashain,
the future sleeps on stinking coarse pavements
stick thin tangled limbs and mangled heads with no dreams
with nothing on but soiled clothes and occasionally a dog or two.

These are paper flowers with newspaper thrones on them.
These are aborted lives living in live carcasses.
These are abused sons and daughters;
childhood recklessness of runnin away gone bad
Hunger for food and love gone desperate,
now they exist, stomach full with smell of dendrite and shoe polish,
heart filled with empty emotions. 
                              
I have no wish when it comes to them,
I am not strong enough to love them or rich enough to feed them all.
But I will, may be buy them a packets of noodles or Glucose Biscuits,
May be even 25ml tetra paks of mango juice.
With this, I have done my good;
I become impermeable to the infinite sadness in their eyes.
These open wounds of humanity, stop bleeding for me ( for the time being) to wade through.

hope

Still discovering the pictures from my vacation. I took so many of them and haven't been able to go through them. This was a freshly painted boat, but the tip shows that it is actually a really old one.

This picture makes me think, ' As long as there is hope... there is everything."

Update - 2

So, it has been almost a week and I am at the point of start. Mr. V is in the airport, waiting to board the flight to Nepal. He lives in US of A and is travelling across the Atlantic with a secret.

I am still a bit fuzzy when it comes to describing the airport, it is an international airport in US. Now I have never been to US, so I do not know how the airports there look like, and does every state have international airports? I guess most of the airports look similar, the waiting area with those attached seats, ceiling high glass windows, the usual coming and going of people... To be more 'in sync' I have decided to go to the airport here in 'D Town', I know they won't let you in without the air ticket, but may be I will just hang around in the lounge outside the 'departure' area and write the rest...

Mr. V is getting more clearer in my mind. He likes to drink coffee with very little sugar and milk; he always has a nervousness around him, a sense of insecurity though he has a good job, a Green Card ( thanks to his US born wife). He is being modeled after someone I had a crush ( HUGE BIG TIME CRUSH) on. With thick somewhat messed hair, I even gave him a pair of  myopic glasses. He is a sensitive man but a bit selfish and opportunist at the same time. Sometimes he bits the inside of his lips, when he is nervous, or thinking too much or reading an interesting book.. his childhood habit. He comes from humble background, has paid his dues to be where he is. He has a past, as in P-A-S-T, and a secret that catchs up with him in his present and drags him back to where it all had started.

Well, despite this... haven't been able to move on with the story.. I know the sequence of events, but everything is too mixed. Should I start with Mr. V in the bedroom, thiking about the day when everything changed. OR, from the airport?? Right now, I am opening the scene at the airport.. lets see what happens..

Gotta get back to the story... Ciao my phantom readers!

a closure and a new beginning

        Could not sleep yesterday, spent the night making list of things I need to do and it goes like this:

-   Need to visit the airport terminal no 1 and 3 to have a look at the seating there. Also to observe what happens, how people interact etc

-   Need to read more about suburbs in US… how do I do that?? May be ask certain Mr. J? Or better Ms. P or Ms. S?

-   If you are travelling ( pretty far for pretty long), would you make love to your wife/ hubby on the night before leaving? Who could answer that??

-   Should I get more sticky pads? More colour, more fun! Right?

-   Need to know more about inter-racial love marriages

… all this to write the alternative version of the chapter 1 for ‘The Book’. By the time I was done and over with over thinking about the list it was 3 am. So I have practically slept for less than four hours… they say you can live with three hours sleep, so I should be fine. And there is always my double dose of coffee mixed with green tea…

And guess what, my dear readers ( if there are any out there… HELLOWWWW!! BIG WET CAFFEINE DRENCHED KISSES) I met an old friend in a mall while browsing for shoes, after almost 5 years… At first I wished that I hadn’t because you see I have got a past, very topsy turvy lowest point of my life past, and she is a part of it. So, I cringe every time I meet someone who reminds me of that certain someone..

But at the end of the day, actually I spent the night at her place ( her hubby had to sleep on the sofa for the night ), I felt pretty happy that I met her. We talked about what happened, and I got to know more of the other side of story. She used to work with 'that' certain someone here and she knows the accounts of his actions and we matched our information ( mine had sort of hit me now and then out of nowhere like phantom bullets in course of the first year I arrived in 'D' town and never from the mouth of the perpetator).  

This led into a better understanding of myself and where I stand, and I stand in pretty solid ground now, than then. I thank god that I met this lady, she was the one who taught me the importance of smile then, she showed me the importance of self love now. I am so very thankful for the fact that we crossed path again..

I got my much need closure that night. And I cried my last tears for something that had died way way back… three years, is a lifetime sometimes..

The Warrior Poetess

waiting

Update No. 1

' The Book' is shaping up. The sleep deprived writer is hugely in debt with her local shop for buying tonns of coffee and cheese croissants in her mid night run for inspiration. Certain Mr. G has been bombared with copies of first chapter ( more than one version) and hopefully he is being able to read them despite his thesis works.

I was fine with the first version, the story opens up with a statement that is the key to the whole plot of the novel. However, while I was sitting in the kitchen ( this is where I like to work, I like having my stash of caffeine near me) another version popped up. Well, one could say that it had been loitering in the back of my mind for sometime.

There is a male character, let us call him Mr. X for now. He is one of the major characters and I know that he was having issues with me giving more attention to Ms. Y ( she is also one of the major characters, well you could say that ' The Book' is about her). How I know this? Because, he has been visiting me in my dreams and bribing me with all this different prespectives to the story.

He is like, " Hey, you know what.. you could begin with such and such event, that will give more depth to the story.!" and he would give a sly smile and add, " If you did that, I would take you out to so and so (Grand, posh, filled with beautiful and rich people) and give you a taste of how life is on the other side."

Mockery, he mocks me for my pauperness ( if there is any word as such), he knows what ticks me because he lives inside my head. He knows that I want, as in W-A-N-T, for a change, to enjoy a beautifully cooked delicious meal than my poor experiments at the stove.

Take a note here that when you decide to chose to be a writer, everything else in your life takes backseat, cooking skills among one of them. My mother says, I will not be able to save my life if there were a faceoff for the 'edible food at least'.

You might also end up a spinster! With no cooking skills, unplucked brows, random sleeping hours and tendency to go, ' Aha!' in middle of a kissing that might lead to more interesting things session and running to the kitchen to write down the next twist in the plot. Unless you are Sophie Ward( I adore her!). Then, you can have a wonderful bunch of friends, invites to all the cool social calander events, a career as a model ( ROCKSTAR!) and a love life... I found her accidentaly and she has come to be an inspiration, though our writing style and interests are totally different.

Hmm.. this is turning out to be more of a confessional rather than an update on the story. Well, but to think about it, if I give away too much of the story here, who is going to stick around when I find a publisher.. Well, who would even want to publish a book that is already half published over the net...? Still, I am not a cruel, money minded, cold person who only thinks of making profits and not her readers. Why, I write for the readers, I cannot say " I WRITE FOR MYSELF!" That is crap. That is shit!

When I write, first it is because I want, I love to and I have to write. But I write also to share; I share my soul with my words as I am not good when it comes to speaking. If I were to stop writing, it won't be long people will see a certain asian looking woman with mangled hair and baggy eyes in her PJs running around the 'D' Town raving mad. And I bet that won't be a pretty sight!

As for the update on ' The Book', keep coming back to this page, you might get snippets of it in the near future.

faceless gods

declaration

I wrote this down few weeks back. I was tired of giving answers to people who always questioned why I was still single (?), why was not I thinking about future ( they do know I am pursuing a BAJM degree part time after work), was I now a lesbian ( hahaha) and all sorts of questions that annoy the shit out of you..someone even said that my market value had an expiry date.... so I wrote this for them. Take is with a little bit of salt.. sweethearts :)

You talk of me,
As if you are talking of canned goods,
Items displayed on the shelf of a department store
Or
A pack of frozen meat in a butcher’s shop.
You say,
Your market value will go down; you have an expiry date,
So get a husband soon
When the time is still your friend, you might just be able to catch someone.
But, do you understand?
Comprehend even,
For a fleeting moment that,
This!
This one in the shelf might not wish to be purchased
Let alone opened.
Because,
I am more valuable than any goods that could be displayed in a department store shelf.
I am more than a pair of breast, ovaries and my sex.
And I demand of love that is as humble as first rays of sun.
Yes!
That would be the only currency of my trade.
You will be dry, you say
When it is time to sow the seed your womb will only be a thirsty land,
Drought.
But do you know?
My life doesn’t end with my biological clock hitting the menopause.
For which, there is plenty of time still.
Do you realize that
Even if I may be unable to bear a child of man,
I could nurse a hundred and more
Even when my nipples shrink into dry raisins,
I have inside me the love that never dries up.
Your life will be empty, so find a man soon who can fulfill you.
You say,
You don’t know how to love,
Surrender.
But do you see?
My life is much more
That the ‘relationship status’ in my face book page.
Or much more than having to find a man
to understand the meaning of my life.
That my heart is fragile, broken but full
With scares of judgments such as yours
And I wear them like war paint on my skin!
Yes!
I am in a war
Against time, I don’t expect a victory there
( who has ever won time?)
But I am waging war against mind like yours
That puts labels of expiry date and price tag on our female-hood.
If you would really want to sum up a woman’s worth
I say,
Measure the depth of her soul,
The expanse of it,
Find the price for her heart
That is vulnerable yet nurturing.
Put a price tag on a mothers intutive touch
that heals the pain of scraped knees and paper cuts,
or a shattered heart and broken dreams.
Measure the strength of a sister's lean shoulders
which can carry the weight of your sorrows like feathers.
Or a lovers gentlest caress
that shakes the core of your manhood when
she touches you there,
Right there,
On the nape of your neck
Or the invisible line between just where your torso meets
The bush of your ecstasy.
Do you not know?
That I walk slow,
Through my life because I know
My life has a meaning already
My existence needs no stamp of approval from you
And I am much more
Than the view of me you could ever surmise.
That I am a woman
And that itself is
Enough!

- The Warrior Poetess